The triumphant shrieks of the cowboys rang out as the disorganized herd split up.
"Wow! They've turned 'em!" shouted Harry. "Hooray!"
The next instant his shout of delight changed to a yell of dismay, and he turned his pony sharply.
"Come on, Rob!" he cried. "We've got to get out of here!"
"They're coming this way!" yelled Tubby, spurring his pony and galloping off at top speed, the others following him. As Rob's pony jumped forward, however, it stumbled and threw the boy headlong. He kept his hold of the reins, fortunately, and was up on its back in a trice. But the second's delay had been fatal.
Sweeping toward the boy, from two points of the compass, were two sections of disorganized stampede. The cattle were trying, according to their instinct, to reunite.
"I'm hemmed in," was Rob's thought.
He switched rapidly round to a quarter where there seemed a chance of escape, but already it had been closed. The boy was on a sort of island. Behind him was the gorge, deep and terrible. In front of him on two sides, death was closing in on the wings of the wind.